The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn’d for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover’d with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his legs and neck, the murderous buckshot and the bullets, All these I feel or am.

I have rejected nothing you offer’d me—whom you adopted I have adopted, Good or bad I never question you—I love all—I do not condemn any thing, I chant and celebrate all that is yours—yet peace no more, In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine, War, red war is my song through your streets, O city!

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…give me life coarse and rank, To-day I go consort with Nature’s darlings, to-night too, I am for those who believe in loose delights, I share the midnight orgies of young men, I dance with the dancers and drink with the drinkers, The echoes ring with our indecent calls, I pick out some low person for my dearest friend, He shall be lawless, rude, illiterate, he shall be one condemn’d by others for deeds done, I will play a part no longer, why should I exile myself from my companions?